Double Fault
by Bratpack 2.0
Summary: There was more to being rich than games of tennis at the country club; there was more to being poor than either-or's. {One-shot.}


**Author's Note: Ask and ye shall (eventually) receive.**

 **This oneshot takes place around chapter 40 of _Green Light_ by This Is Melodrama, and around chapters 18/19 of _Don't Think Twice_ (chapters 19/20 of _Sins of the Saints_ ) by AndThatWasEnough.**

 **We don't own _The Outsiders_ , but we REALLY WISH WE DID (wink-wink, Susie.)**

 **Happy reading :)**

XXXXX

Evie took one last look at her watch and gave a long-suffering sigh. Five minutes had been enough _ten_ minutes ago, and she was sick of waiting, so she leaned over to the driver's seat and laid on the horn, startling both Ella and Cathy. What? They had places to go, people to see. And Evie wasn't exactly well-known for her saint-like patience. Quite the opposite, actually.

"Let's go, Stevens!" Evie yelled towards the house, hoping Bridget would hear, but doing it more for effect than anything else. The girl could practically hear Cathy rolling her eyes in the back seat. "Save it," Evie said, holding a hand up. Cathy scoffed.

"I didn't say anything!"

"You were going to."

Ella slid her eyes over to Evie and smirked, slightly shaking her head. It never failed to amaze her just how different the four of them were, but yet here they were, all this time later. That's not to say that life wasn't any less complicated than it was when they first all got together – in fact, it was probably even _more_ so than it was back in October, and October had looked pretty dismal, what with the whole homecoming fiasco. Anywho, Ella supposed all that mattered was that even six months later, they could still, at the very least, tolerate each other. Evie even sometimes admitted to sorta _liking_ Bridget. Cathy and Ella both counted that as a win. And even with as crazy as things had been, Ella had to admit that she was surrounded by more friendly faces than she ever had been in her life before now.

"I'm coming!"

The three girls sat in Mrs. Mitchell's Impala and watched as Bridget rushed out her front door, hastily locking it behind her, and sauntered down the porch steps and her front walk, all while carrying what looked like a picnic basket and a bouquet of flowers. Trust Bee Stevens to make an entrance. Cathy leaned over to open the car door for her, and Bridget quickly shoved in her goodies and then daintily sat down with an exaggerated sigh.

"What took you so long?" Evie asked, and Cathy snickered as Bridget rolled her eyes, as she'd obviously been anticipating Evie's annoyance. Ella pulled away from the curb and started for the YWCA.

"Needed to shower and change. I was out playing tennis with Cherry." Bridget paused and pursed her lips, wondering if she should really mention this next part, but she was just testing the waters, wasn't she? She didn't mean anything bad by it, not at all. She was just…curious. Always curious. "We were playing doubles against Vickie and her cousin, Beatrice Preston."

The rest of the girls all made gagging noises, but Ella's was half-hearted at best. Beatrice Preston was now just another thorn in her side, and now _she_ was tutoring Dallas, which she knew first-hand was a hellish experience, but _still_...

"I didn't think you and Vickie were all that friendly anymore," Cathy said.

"I don't know if we are or aren't." Bridget shrugged. "And, I know, Ella, that you and Beatrice – "

"It's fine," Ella insisted.

"Well, I know she took you gig and everything…"

"It's fine," Ella said again, looking at her friend in the mirror. "It's just tennis."

Yes, but with girls, it was never _just tennis_.

"You wanna hear about it? I got some good dirt."

Evie wanted to say something along the lines of how of _course_ Bridget just assumed they'd want to hear all about her boring tennis game, but then the last part caught up with her, and she nodded, and Cathy said "Sure!" and Bridget breathed hard through her nose and glanced at Ella _again_.

"If it's going to make Ella uncomfortable…"

" _Spill_ , Bridget," Ella said, more forcefully than usual. Evie and Cathy exchanged surprised looks.

"Alrighty then. It went a little something like this…"

xXx

There were a few notable names in Tulsa.

People knew who Dallas Winston and Tim Shepard and Bob Sheldon and Johnny Cade were. They knew about Darry Curtis and Paul Holden and Cherry Valance and Sylvia Capoletti. They were all notable for their own reasons, usually for something they did that got them their fifteen minutes of fame, good or bad. But there were some people who didn't even have to try to get noticed – they did simply because of the family they were born into, who they were connected to.

Vickie Harper and Beatrice Preston were two such people.

But again, everyone had their own reasons for being known. People knew Vickie Harper because she was Vickie Harper, not because of her family. She was wealthy, yes, but her father was just a doctor. Vickie blazed a trail for herself using her God-given gifts of charisma and a natural ability to scheme. She was your typical pursuer of the American Dream, if the American Dream could be defined as stepping on other people's backs just to get ahead, which it probably could be. Beatrice was in the opposite situation. People knew her _family_ , not necessarily her. She was the only daughter – only child - of a state senator. People in town wondered why she went to a public school, but Beatrice kept a low enough profile that she usually avoided too many questions.

She and Vickie ran in different circles, but on the same tier. Beatrice wasn't exactly the queen bee like Vickie was, but she had plenty of upper class friends and a boyfriend. Vickie, however, liked to take on projects. She was constantly challenged by Cherry Valance for the number one position, which Beatrice figured just gave new girl Bridget Stevens the opportunity to snatch the spot, if they weren't careful.

They were all on the Pom-Pom squad together. They were split in several factions: football cheer, basketball cheer, junior varsity, and varsity. There were also a few more unspoken factions: Beatrice's, Vickie's, and Cherry's. Cherry's was really more a sub-faction of Vickie's, but semantics. Lucky girls like Stevens and Valance and a few others were on both varsity football and basketball cheer. These girls had access to the hottest commodities Will Rogers High School had to offer. Vickie made time for varsity football cheer, and Beatrice varsity basketball cheer, and they liked to compare notes about the overlaps when they would see each other outside of school. Which was often. Because they were cousins. That's how Beatrice found out all about this homecoming business from this past fall. She and Vickie were a doubles tennis team, and they were sitting in the club after a set, drinking sweet tea and gossiping.

"I thought Bridget was a friend of yours," Beatrice asked after Vickie had finished telling the story, a bit confused. To be honest, though, those two girls didn't exactly know too much about each other. They weren't friends. Vickie – the link between Beatrice and Bridget - shrugged.

"Yeah, well, she needed to be put in her place." She slid her eyes over to her cousin. "You know, I think there's something between her and that Two-Bit Mathews."

Beatrice made a gagging sound. Two-Bit Mathews might have been good-looking for a greaser, but he was no Sodapop Curtis, and he was certainly no George Caldwell or Jerry Thompson or Craig Bryant. He was scum, to put it simply. "He has the worst friends," Beatrice proclaimed. "I've been stuck tutoring that Dallas Winston ever since that Ella Mitchell girl let her grades slip. Didn't you say she and Stevens were friends now?"

Vickie nodded solemnly. "Bridget's too easily swayed, I think. She hears someone's sob-story and starts feeling bad for them. I think she's just taking pity on Mitchell. And I can't see how she could stand to be friends with her when it means there's only a degree of separation between her and the biggest hood in town."

"Why are _you_ friends with her?"

Vickie smirked. Who's to say she was? At least, these days. "You know I like a project."

Beatrice nodded slowly. "Does she play?" She asked, gesturing with her head to the tennis courts below them. Vickie nodded.

"I think her usual partner is Missy Redar." Oh, Beatrice knew Missy. Nice girl. Knew her place. "But I think she's out of town for the weekend. Why?"

"I thought we should just get together, play a match. Do a little…prodding."

Well. Vickie liked the sound of that. "I think I could convince Cherry to play with her."

xXx

"Nevermind. This is already the dumbest story I've heard in my life," Evie declared, regretting that she'd let her go on like this. "Stevens, what's so important about a game of tennis?"

"I still wanna hear it," Ella said quietly, her curiosity about Beatrice getting the best of her. Bridget grinned smugly and continued.

"So. Vickie called us up, and that's how we get to today, with me and Cherry going to play Vickie and Beatrice…"

xXx

"Just so you know, I have plans for this afternoon."

Cherry looked over briefly at Bridget, then looked right back at the road. "Yeah? Got a date or something?"

Bridget shook her head. "Visiting a friend."

It was an evasive answer, and the poor girl knew that, but she just didn't feel it was the time to really delve into the matter of her second life with her friend at the moment. Quite frankly, she didn't want to know what Cherry thought of the whole situation, either, and not because she was Cherry – she just didn't want anybody getting the wrong idea. Although, if Bridget were being honest with herself, it was probably too late to wish for that. But this wasn't just about her, anyways.

"We shouldn't be long," Cherry said, cutting her eyes to her friend again when she wasn't looking.

She'd been acting so strange lately, but Cherry couldn't quite put her finger on why or what was making her behave that way. As they changed into their tennis whites, Cherry mused that she certainly didn't _look_ any different, and it wasn't like the preoccupied look on her face was a new development. For that day, Cherry figured all that mattered was that her serve was still strong. And it was.

Vickie and Beatrice were waiting for them out on the courts already. They were quite the pair, Bridget thought to herself: thin, tan, and tall. And _blonde_. She could suddenly see the family resemblance, and wondered how she'd missed it before, though Beatrice's looks were much more severe. Vickie smiled at her friends.

"Glad you could make it!" She chirped. "Bridget, I don't think you've met Beatrice Preston, my cousin."

"I don't think I have," Bridget said, smiling warmly and offering her hand. Beatrice accepted her handshake, but she didn't smile back. Bridget's smile faltered a bit. "It's very nice to meet you, Beatrice."

"And you," she said, her voice terribly formal. "I've heard a lot about you."

Bridget giggled. "Not all bad, I hope," she joked, trying to get the girl to lighten up a little, but Beatrice just cut her eyes to Vickie, who gave her an unreadable look. Bridget looked at Cherry, who just shrugged. Those two seemed to have a language all their own.

"Let's play," Cherry said, saving the situation from getting any more awkward. "We'll serve."

It was a pretty friendly game, like most of them were - this wasn't the US Open. They were four fairy competitive girls, which was why they agreed in the first place to not even really keep score – just hit. But they were all keeping score in their heads, but who won would depend on who you asked. But anyone who watched would say Bridget's serve was as strong as always, Cherry played well in the front court, Vickie's backhand was to be envied, and Beatrice was quick like lightning on her feet. They took a brief break after each set, and Bridget found herself being questioned by Beatrice, who really made her feel like she was going through the third degree.

"You're dating Jerry Thompson?"

"I am."

"And you're in the spring play?"

"Yes."

"And what does your father do?"

"He's a university professor."

"I see. And which house is yours?"

"The white plantation."

"Oh, that's nice. You're liking Tulsa?"

"I suppose."

"That's good. I saw that sweet white formal you wore to the winter dance. I liked it."

"Thank you."

"I also hear you're friends with Evie Martin?"

"We're…acquainted."

"And Catherine Carlson?"

"Yes."

"And Ella Mitchell, too?"

"Yes."

Then Beatrice would stick her aristocratic nose daintily into the air and turn her head, and then they'd be back on the court. Bridget made sure to really put some spin onto the balls going in Beatrice's direction. If the other girl noticed, she didn't say anything, but it was fair to say that the two of them weren't very friendly by the end of the match.

"I wouldn't worry too much about it," Vickie said to her on the side during one of their breaks. "She can really be quite the snob."

Takes one to know one.

"Good game!" Vickie said when all was said and done, and they were making their way off the court. "Everyone have time for lunch?"

They all nodded. Bridget figured she had enough time. She didn't have to be back out for a couple hours – there was time for her to have lunch and then go home and grab a shower. They found a table, and Cherry and Vickie left Bridget and Beatrice to go grab a few things for them to munch on. Something light because it was already hot here in Oklahoma, and heavy food just wouldn't have sat well. The two girls at the table were left fanning themselves, sitting awkwardly in silence as they didn't really know each other, and hadn't exactly gotten off on the right foot. The silence really got to the dark-haired girl, who eventually just caved.

"So I heard you're tutoring Dallas Winston," Bridget said, trying to start a conversation. "That must be perfectly awful."

"It is," Beatrice sneered, finally showing some semblance of emotion. Bridget latched onto it, hoping the ice was beginning to thaw. "I'm amazed they even let him back into school after everything he's done, let alone everything that happened last fall."

"What happened to Bob wasn't Dallas Winston's fault," Bridget weakly defended, though she wasn't quite sure why.

"But the stunt he pulled after that was, and everything else he's done. He's no innocent."

Bridget shook her head, vehemently agreeing, saying, "I don't think he is. Not at all. I was just saying – "

"You were just saying that because he's a friend of Two-Bit Mathews." Oh, be that as it may, she – well. Actually, Beatrice had probably hit the nail on the head. But Bridget didn't need to let her know that. Beatrice was on a roll, though. "Vickie tells me the two of you are friends as well. You shouldn't hang around him you know. Or that Evie Martin, or even Ella Mitchell. I think Winston rubbed off on her in the wrong way – can't even keep her _own_ grades up."

Bridget wanted to tell Beatrice Preston that it was already too late for that. That she'd already been kissed by that boy – twice. That he already had her heart. No, they shouldn't be friends – they should be more than that. And that she and Evie had made so much progress in their friendship, and that they were mostly past all their old grudges. And that Ella was one of the sweetest people she knew, and hard-working, and that she _must_ have a good reason for her grades slipping. Bridget was just glad she hadn't mentioned Cathy – she couldn't take much more of this girl berating her friends, and she really might have gone off on her if she'd started taking jabs at the younger girl. "Thank you for your concern," Bridget said. "I can make my own decisions about the people I choose to be friends with."

"I can see that," Beatrice snapped. "Vickie's right – you _are_ a project."

xXx

"The nerve of some people." Cathy shook her head. Beatrice Preston was really an asshole, she could see that plain and clear. And she didn't even know the girl. "Well, at least you won, right?" Cathy asked, still processing. If that's what having money was like, and she had to play that much tennis, then was it really worth it? She didn't think so.

Bridget shrugged. "Maybe." She leaned forward a bit so Ella could hear her better. "Ya know, Vickie told me that Beatrice's parents don't even sleep in the same room anymore."

Ella's lips twitched, but she didn't say anything. (But it did make her feel a bit better.) She just pulled up to the YWCA and parked, and now all four girls were clearly focused on their mission. Bridget grabbed her basket, Cathy grabbed the flowers, and Evie and Ella led the way as the four of them marched into the old brick building, which usually looked kind of sad, but not so much today in the spring sunlight, and due to the fact that the girls were all feeling particularly rosy. Because today was a good day because…well, because it was and because they chose to make it that way.

"We're here to see Lynnette," Evie told the receptionist, and seeming to know exactly who she was referring to, led the four of them up the stairs and down the hall. The girls all looked a bit out of place here, and Bridget seemed to shrink away from the walls for fear of getting even a smudge on her dress, but none of the building's slightly-sad aura seemed to deter their ever-rising spirits. Ella rapped on the door a few times, and just a few moments later, Lynnette appeared at the door.

"Ella!" she breathed happily, then her eyes seemed to widen as she noticed the rest of the band of misfits before her. "Evie, Bridget, Cathy," she grinned, "I wasn't expectin' y'all!"

Evie smirked and happily shrugged her shoulders. "Oh, well we're just full of surprises. Can we come in?"

Lynnette ushered them in, and almost as soon as they got inside, Cathy _had_ to ask, "May we see him?" They'd all already seen him, of course. All four of them were there two months ago in the waiting room when Lynnette gave birth, nervously awaiting news and hoping, praying for no complications, and for once they seemed to get lucky. Lynnette had told Evie while she was still pregnant that she had been planning to give the baby up when he was born, and Evie had told her that was a perfectly noble idea. But the human mind – and the heart – is a fickle thing, and when it came down to it, when she met her baby, Lynnette couldn't seem to do it. This actually pissed Evie off a bit, and the girl tried to tell her that this probably wasn't the best idea, that she was so young, and what was wrong with the plan in the first place? What the _hell_ , Lynnette? Ya got your whole life in front of you, why are you doing this to yourself? It all came from a place of worry in her heart, a place of concern, because how the hell was Lynnette supposed to raise a child when she had nowhere to go? But her friend was adamant in her change of heart. She was a goner the moment she saw him. Evie didn't want to admit this to her friend, but she viewed that as a moment of weakness. (Though she sometimes wondered if that meant that her heart was much colder than she'd feared.) Bridget happily wept when she found out that Lynnette was keeping the baby, the sentimental fool, and even practical Cathy and stoic Ella seemed to agree with the decision, even if Evie thought all of them were fucking nuts for doing so.

She was worried. She was damn worried.

But that's where the YWCA came in, they all supposed. Lynnette and her son lived together in a small room – for now – that was sparsely furnished, but not too dingy. It could be a helluva lot worse, that was for sure. Lynnette was looking for work, too, and Ella told her that she'd put in a good word for her at the store she worked at on Sutton. Which meant the baby would need to be watched, which justified all the more in Evie's mind why she needed to give the baby up. But it was probably too late now, in an emotional sort of way.

"I brought you this, too." Bridget set her basket on Lynnette's bed and the two began to rifle through it. "I wasn't sure what exactly you might need, so I just…got a little of everything?"

Bridget smiled at the scene before her; Ella was arranging the flowers in a vase, Evie watched on as Lynnette showed off a little pair of booties and onesies and a new pair of slippers for herself, as well as new issues of _Vogue_ and _Cosmopolitan_. And Cathy was cooing over baby Burgess ( _"Burgess?"_ Evie had said incredulously. _"Burgess? What the hell sort of name is that?"_ Well, a southern one, Bridget supposed. Was Oklahoma the south? She didn't know. When Bridget had asked her what she'd name a child, she'd said _"After the saints_." Of course, how had Bee not thought of that?) Cathy was such a natural with children. Bridget couldn't picture herself as a mother, not just yet. Or any of her friends, even Cathy. But maybe that was a good thing. Lynnette was brave, and would probably be a better mother to this child than most would expect, but girls their age shouldn't be having babies.

"He's so cute!" Cathy said, sounding younger than any of the rest of them had ever heard her – so, her actual age, not the middle-aged woman she was in her head.

"Thank you," Lynnette said shyly. "I named him after that Burgess fella who wrote _Old Mother West Wind_. I liked those stories when I was a kid."

"Do you have a copy?" Ella asked, and Lynnette shook her head. "I'll have to pick one up for you."

"You don't have to do that," Lynnette shook her head. "Y'all don't have to be doin' _any_ of this, it's really too kind for a girl like me. And I don't want you to put yourselves out."

"Oh, that's what we've got Bridget for," Evie joked.

"We're not putting ourselves out," Cathy said as she passed Burgess off to Ella. Seems he was making the rounds.

"Whatever you need, we'll try to give it," Ella said.

Lynnette seemed to be getting just a bit emotional, and truthfully, Bridget was, too, but for a slightly different reason. She was thinking of tennis earlier that day, of Vickie and Beatrice, of what they'd make of her standing in this dingy YWCA with this teenage mother. They probably wouldn't like it. They probably wouldn't like that she was still friends with Evie and Ella and Cathy, girls they definitely deemed below them. And the thought angered her. Hot, angry tears pricked at her eyes. These four girls were better than the two of them, even with all their money and popularity and trendy clothes. Bridget didn't know how they couldn't see it. And even at her age, Bridget figured Lynnette would make a better mother than Beatrice or Vickie ever would.

"He's just the most beautiful baby," Bridget said softly to Lynnette as they stood back and watched their friends coo over Burgess. "He's just the sweetest things."

"Thank you," Lynnette whispered, every moment she spent with these girls helping her feel more confident in her choice. " _Thank you_."

XXXXX

 **AN: Thanks for reading – and being patient!**


End file.
